I have a new obsession, and it has an Irish flair. I'm not sure who started me down this path, and if it was you please remind me so I can give you a big hug and thank you profusely! So do I have your curiosity piqued? I'm talking about the Fever series by Karen Marie Moning. It is a series that I can NOT stop recommending.

The first book, Dark Fever,readers are introduced to Mac, the young, southern, heroine. I loved this strong willed, brave, and quirky young woman from the beginning - my affinity for her just grew throughout the series. We follow her quest for truth and justice encountering the world of the Fae in which she unknowingly plays an important pivotal role. I loved the interaction with two sexy but very different males, V'lane and Barrons. I felt myself wondering right along with her who to trust, who to believe. Should she believe the Blonde, Adonis, like V'lane, who is a Prince of the Fae or should she believe the dark, smoldering exotic, but sexy as all get out Barrons who simmers with a animistic presence. KM Moning keeps us guessing until the final book Shadow Fever. If you are like me you will read these as fast as you can, unable to put them down because you just NEED to know what happens to Mac and those she has grown to love.

If you like paranormal fiction I can guarantee you will enjoy this series and will come to love the characters as much as I have.

My philosophy is pretty simple—any day nobody’s trying to kill me is a good day inmy book.

I haven’t had many good days lately.

Not since the walls between Man and Faery came down.

But then, there’s not a sidhe-seer alive who’s had a good day since then.

Before The Compact was struck between Man and Fae (around 4000 B.C. for those of you who aren’t up on your Fae history), the Unseelie Hunters hunted us down like animals and killed us. But The Compact forbade the Fae to spill human blood, so for the next six thousand years, give or take a few centuries, those with True Vision—people like me

who can’t be fooled by Fae glamour or magic—were taken captive and imprisoned in Faery until they died. Real big difference there: dying or being stuck in Faery until you die. Unlike some people I know, I’m not fascinated by them. Dealing with the Fae is like dealing with any addiction—you give in, they’ll own you; you resist, they never will.

Now that the walls are down, the Hunters are back to killing us again. Stamping us out like we’re the plague on this planet.

Aoibheal, the Seelie Queen of the Light, is no longer in charge. In fact, nobody seems to know where she is anymore, and some people are beginning to wonder if she is anymore. The Seelie and Unseelie have been smearing their bloody war all over our world since her disappearance, and although some might say I’m being broody and pessimistic, I think the Unseelie are gaining the distinct upper hand over their fairer brethren.

Which is a really, really bad thing.

Not that I like the Seelie any better. I don’t. The only good Fae is a dead Fae in my book. It’s just that the Seelie aren’t quite as lethal as the Unseelie. They don’t kill us on sight. They have a use for us.

Sex.

Though they barely credit us with sentience, they have a taste for us in bed.

When they’re done with a woman, she’s a mess. It gets in her blood. Unprotected Fae-sex awakens a frenzy of sexual hunger inside a woman for something she should never have had to begin with, and will never be able to forget. It takes a long time for her to recover—but at least she’s alive.

Which means a chance to fight another day. To help try to find a way to return our world to what it once was.

To send those Fae bastards back to whatever hell they came from.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, ahead of the story.

It began as most things begin. Not on a dark and stormy night. Not foreshadowed by ominous here-comes-the-villain music, dire warnings at the bottom of a teacup, or dread portents in the sky. It began small and innocuously, as most catastrophes do. A butterfly flaps its wings somewhere and the wind changes, and a warm front hits a cold front off the coast of western Africa and before you know it you’ve got a hurricane closing in. By the time anyone figured out the storm was coming, it was too late to do anything but batten down the hatches and exercise damage control.

My name is MacKayla. Mac for short. I’m a sidhe-seer, a fact I accepted only recently and very reluctantly.

There were more of us out there than anyone knew. And it’s a damn good thing, too.

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